


when things fall into place

by ozymandiasinvelvet



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assault, Depersonalization Disorder, Dpd, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Trans!Richie, aged up 16-17, bev is the best friend you wish you had, georgie is alive and the sweetest baby, has a friend, no pennywise, or how richie and eddie get together, pretty gay, so like trans!richie, who is a trans!girl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-23 02:36:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12496680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozymandiasinvelvet/pseuds/ozymandiasinvelvet
Summary: It's junior year of high school for Richie Tozier, besides getting good grades and studying, he struggles with himself and his feelings.Thank God for the Loser's Gang.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> hello, my readers.
> 
> i would just like to say that this fic could be triggering for people who've struggled with bullying, assault, dysmorphia, and bpd. personally, i have been bullied and have (undiagnosed) bpd, however i identify as a ciswoman. that being said, if i say or write something in regards with dysmorphia or being trans that is incorrect please feel free to call me out on it. it is very important to me that i write this fic correctly and in a manner that is respectful of the trans community. 
> 
> lots of love.
> 
> xxx

"Rachel, you're just gonna LOVE Maine! Nothing like dirty old Chicago!" My mom beamed back at me, my blank stare confused her as she readjusted herself in the driver's seat. A deep frown took it's place on her face as she looked forwards and out towards the endless roads. 

My eyes make their way out of the car, thinking of Eleanor and opening a new page in a small, frayed, band-sticker covered notebook. My thumb smoothing out the bubbles beneath a Smith's sticker that was on the top left, next to what was a mustard stain. It felt like an eternity ago, chatting with Eleanor about the OBVIOUS evils of mustard when a glob of it fell from El's onion smothered hotdog. I'm still not sure whether or not it was an accident, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't remind me of her. It was kinda like the world's worst scratch n' sniff, I guess. Regardless of her mustard fiend ways, she really was the best. At some points, it felt like she was the only one who understood me, I cut my hair short, she grew hers long: no matter what, we had eachother's backs. 

That's why when the resident assholes of my school put me in a dress and nearly assaulted me, she was the first to beg my mom to leave. 

It was the most mortifying experience of my life, to say the least. The week before the incident, I had come out to everyone I knew as transgender because I was exhausted of hiding who I was and cringing when teachers would call my name as Rachel Tozier. The experience was akin to peeling my skin off as one jerkoff insisted on putting emphasis on calling me: she, her, that girl, Rachel, little lady (SHIVER) and when I punched him straight across the face after a particularly sounded out "RAAAAAACHEL" he told me I would regret it. I thought I was safe the following weeks at school, thinking completely rationally that it was 2017 and that I would be safe, I was horribly wrong. 

They had cornered me that day. Truth be told, I don't remember much of what happened. Bits and pieces that don't feel like they actually happened, but my mom informed me that the janitor had found me, laying in the corner and sobbing wordlessly, dressed in a pink, frilly babydoll dress. I made the news too, supposedly. Some queer kid found on the floor of a high school bathroom, nearly beaten to death. The strangest damn thing that I only remember the way the glass shattered onto the floor, exploding like a lightbulb. Flashes of pain and hopelessness, but no details.

My therapist, Horatia tells me that I have depersonalization disorder and that when unpleasant situations happen to me, my mind just kinda forces me out of my body to protect me. On top of the dysmorphia I struggle with everyday, I also feel like everything's a faraway dream, fuckin' A. That, or it's like I'm seeing everything with the wrong lens prescription, blurry and indistinct. After all of this, my mom still insists on calling me Rachel, my blood boiling a little every single time. As if I chose to have wound up there, broken and alone. 

I look at the blank piece of paper on my lap, yellowed at the edges and worn down with use. It had been my dad's, the guy was real piece of shit, but he had great taste in leatherbound notebooks apparently. So when the fucker croaked, I decided this was the only thing I'd take. He used to beat my mom bloody and she'd nearly drink herself to death every night trying to rationalize her life. My mom's a real mess and I had been there to experience all of her downfall. She wasn't always a shit mom, she used to make me the perfect, little, square sandwiches after school. Those days were long ago, foggy like my glasses after drinking tea. 

She's going to rehab though, part of moving to boonies, (there was a new hospital up there for addicts). She says she wants to change for the better and even cried when saying it, but I couldn't feel anything, detached yet again. I just nodded at her, heading up to my room to try to write out the static in my mind. After whatever happened, I tried to fill up the static with whatever I could, whether it was blaring punk music until something made sense or punching my pillow.

I sighed, looking for anything that would make this experience with my mom anyless empty. Seventeen hours was WAAAAAY more than tolerable to spend with her.

The truth was, wherever I went, it followed me. No amount of Black Flag would make it feel better sometimes. This isn't to say it was all a black hole or that I was completely miserable, in fact I loved the moments I spent with Eleanor. Helping her shop for new clothes and supporting her when she was getting her first estrogen shots, it made me so fuckin' happy to see her smiling so wide it looked like it hurt. Or when they'd watch Austin Power over and over again. He had just desperately wished his mom would support him, like Eleanor's dads. Instead, I was forced to grow my black curls out until they hit my waist, forced to buy clothes that would "accentuate my curves". Thank fuck I'm not a curvy person, I'm as lanky and tall as a giraffe. 

"We're almost there, Rach! Just 30 minutes left!" She exclaimed to him, eyes widening, letting go of their wrinkles and lines. For a second, she looked like herself again, a decently attractive woman in her 40s before she reverted back into the hag she grew into.

I dug my nails into my hands, relax. This is all real, you are real, your mom is real, those are your hands on your lap. Relax. 

If anyone needed a fuckin' swedish massage, it was him, damn it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to derry, maine

Joy Division begins to blare into my ears, the bass line thrumming like my heartbeat. 

Fuck, we're almost there, or nowhere as it seems. 

I look over at ma, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, until the knuckles turn white. She's just as nervous as me, turns out. For different reasons maybe, but anxious all the same. The trees crowded around us, as if to hear what they might be saying inside of the confines of ma's shit Toyota. That piece of shit had seen more bad days than good, by far. Especially that time she picked me up from school and ran over the welcome sign to the school. They made her pay 500 dollars right before Christmas and it was one of the shittiest yet, by far. Fuck, they almost were homeless that time, the rent right around the corner. 

The only saving grace of the mess was Grandpappy Richard helping ma pay the rent. Still, they spent the whole "vacation" with the oven open to heat the house. Then, a few months ago, Grandpappy died after fighting his pancreatic cancer for 4 years. We couldn't believe it, the doctors were saying that he was getting much better and he might've gone into remission soon...I-I don't think I ever saw her so distraught in my life, she was losing hair and everything. He was a good man, sweet and kind, patient too. He showed me old stand up tapes and his laughter-God...That's how I knew that I wanted to be a comedian or anything where I made people laugh. It was a deep, hearty thing, completely genuine everytime. He always smelt faintly of mothballs and vanilla, when ever I smell them, my heart tugs a little. Imagine how excruciating Christmas is every time it rolls around, when everyone seems to be blasting the smell of sugar cookies out of their windows. He was even there when the incident happened and would take care of me when mom was on another one of her benders again. He might not have understood what I'm going through but at least he tried and he was there for me when I needed someone.

He's the reason I want to change my name to Richie when I transition. I want to rename myself after someone who I know was an amazing person, not after my mom, Maggie Rachel. 

Rubbing my hands in to my eyes until I see funky shapes and colors, I look up and out of the window. Lifting my head up to stop the tears from rolling down my face. God, I hate when people see me cry. I hate being vulnerable, easy to break. I have to be strong for myself if I wanna make it outta my teenage years alive. You can do it Richie, all pain is temporary. A blue and white sign peeks out behind a thick looking bush, stating proudly:

"DERRY: So Friendly You'll Never Want to Leave!"

I was counting the fuckin' seconds I could leave this shithole and get away from ma. I was going to get through high school with flying colors and leave like he was running from the devil himself, everyone's necks would snap. I don't want to end up like her, no way. I wanted to make Grandpappy happy, proud of me if he's watching me somewhere. I'm gonna transition and become a radio show host, god knows I have a big enough mouth for it. I'm gonna get over my trauma and become bigger than every disappointing parental figure in my life. I realise just at that second that I had been gripping my pen so hard that it exploded all over me. Super. Fantastic. Well good thing it was an ugly pink sweater of his, he hated the thing with a passion.

"Goddamn it, Rachel! What are you, the fucking Hulk now? You know how expensive that GAP sweater was! You're such a fuck up sometimes." snarled his mom, looking at the ruined shirt on his famished frame.

I give her a glare and respond with all the venom I could muster, "Yeah that tends to happen when I'm around annoying people like you, you hag. Plus, who are you calling a fuck up? We moved because of you."

The car jerked to the right of the road without warning, making my neck jerk in an uncomfortable way. I rubbed my neck as I saw the infuriated eyes of what looked like the devil in a purple blouse. I could FEEL myself shitting myself in terror.

"I get that I can be a shit mom sometimes and that you wish I died instead'a Grandpappy, but I don't need your shit. Rachel, next time you fuckin' disrespect me like that, I'll pull over and smack the hell outta you. Harder than daddy gave you. Understood?" She spat at me, turned around in her seat to make eye contact with me.

I could feel myself slipping away, some jumbled words coming out as a reply. Disconnecting until my hands felt completely alien and the tears dissipated from the cage of my eyes. It was good getting away, feeling nothing for a while. God I'm so fucking overwhelmed I can hardly breathe. I close my eyes and let it take me away until nothing's left except numbness.

The car rolls to a halt but I'm stuck to my seat like glue, completely lost in my mind again. My eyes screwed shut, gasping. Fumble around for my notebook, trying to remember that day so long ago with Eleanor by my side. The door squeaks open, ripping it off when he looks up to see an old fashioned bungalow in front of him. Some of the picket fence fell over dilapidated or bent like crooked teeth, but it looked solid. An earthy green with a white door. It looked far too good for them, too pristine. After grandpappy died, ma found out that he had left her a considerable inheritance from the revenue of his books. He was a prolific writer when he was still alive. It went to this house, I guess. I was kinda relieved that it didn't go to booze and cigs like I had thought it would. Ma looked at me with an expectant look and groaned at me. Wincing whilst getting out of the obsidian car, I get to my feet. Aware of the corners of the book burrowing into my flesh as I hug it to my chest. 

I already fucking HATE this town.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Mrs. Denborough, her son, and his friend.

Did you know popcorn ceilings had so much texture to them?

I shake my head, thinking that I've finally lost my marbles for real. I guess it's time to bust out the tinfoil and start harassing NASA. Turning to my side, I look over at the discarded book, trying to invest myself in the world of Huckleberry Finn but ending somewhere else. Somewhere between reality and fantasy where nothing can hurt me like they usually do.

After my mom shouted at me some more and stomped off somewhere, I decided to take my cardboard box to my room. My life suddenly felt so small and empty, the majority of my personal items fitting in a 15 by 20 box on my legs. I guess I just lived outside of my house more than I did in it, it was more uncomfortable to be at home than it was to be sitting on the curb on an abandoned street at night. Better memories too. At least there's the picture with Ellie along with the rest of the trophies and junk. It was them at an arcade, Ellie smiling proudly next to him, a matching birthday hat on our heads. Ellie later got very drunk and I vomited burrito chunks through my nose.

Good times.

The room is a unsettling puke green color that keeps throwing me off when I look at it reminding me vividly of that night at the arcade, there's only living room furniture for now and it feels like I've been digested by the alien from Men in Black. I'm so bored, I keep repeating the monotonous routine of looking at the walls, the floor, and out the window. BOOOOOOOORED. I need to explore this "town" or at least get out of the suffocating room, this house has to hide some secrets or something. Besides if I sit any longer I think I'll start growing roots.

The tan carpet almost crunched between my toes and feet, the age of it making me distantly disgusted. I reach for the door knob, when all of a sudden it starts jiggling wildly, I jump nearly out of my skin, almost sharting myself in surprise.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT. WHY IS IT STILL JIGGLING.

It stops almost as immediately as it starts, a silence falling upon the ruckus that just occurred. 

"What the fuck..." I hear myself say, "Mom are you home?"

No response, just the faint sounds of footsteps leading away from the door.

Fucking typical of her. She did weird shit when she's drunk. Once she set the couch on fire because it was giving her and I shit you not, "attitude."

I might as well go and see what she's doing because it sure as Hell scared him. Plus, the last time it happened, the firefighters came and we were fined. Cringing as I grab the door knob, it doesn't decide to have a seizure. I can honestly say I've never been so relieved in my life and that's saying something, because when Ellie had an asthma attack he had rushed to the hospital and waited for hours before they said anything at all about her condition. 

"MOOOOOOOOOM! Are you hoooooooome?" I yelled into the hallway, to no avail.

A weird shuffling noise sounded from the kitchen and I ran back into my room. Fuck. Okay. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON???? MY BASEBALL BAT! I felt around the box until my hand came around the bat, gripping it tightly as I inch to the doorway. I can fight whoever's in my hou-

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!!

A door creaks open and I hear ma chatting to some unknown person. Right now, the adrenaline coursed through me, I weaved a hand through my overly long hair and forced myself to calm down. It was nothing Richie, just your mom and she didn't hear you earlier. Okay.

"RACHEL! COME MEET OUR NEIGHBORS!" Ma yelled in that polite way that people do when they pretend to be embarrassed to be yelling.

I shuffle out of my room and towards the door, when something flashes past on my right. I whip around, expecting to see someone, maybe the noi- I feel my body seize up and jump into the air a little. 

"HIIIIIIIIII! My name is Georgie! We're neighbors!" Cheers the little boy standing to my right, he's grinning widely and holds a hand out for me to shake. 

I shake it along with my head, feeling very silly now. 

"Uh...hey Georgie, my name is Rich- Rachel. My name is Rachel." I say, blushing a bit at my slip up. 

"Can you show me where the potty is? That's why I was running..." He explains, looking at his feet embarrassed, "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm really sorry."

Smiling at him, I say "It's the door at the end of the hallway, to the right. It's alright, don't worry about it." 

I make my way to the door again for which feels like the trillionth time, fuck. His ma, a dirty blond, middle aged woman, and a kid his age look up at him from the table.  
The woman looks kind and has the beginning of wrinkles forming around her eyes and lips, the kids were pretty much duplicates of her. The boy a little less because of the brunette hair, but the same eyes and lips. 

"This is my daughter Rachel Tozier. Rachel, come say 'Hi'." His mom smiled at him falsely.

"Hey, you're the neighbors right?" I say, looking at the woman who was holding a home welcoming dinner in her gloved hands.

"Yes! We're the Denborough's, this is my son William and my other son, George I assume you ran into. My husband is at work now, but he sends a warm welcome." Mrs. Denborough says, her tone light and happy.

Her son, looks up at me and seems to take a moment before saying, "M-my name i-is William, but it sounds too old to be my name. Call me Bill."

To that I smile, he does look like a Bill, not a Billy or a William. 

"I'm Rachel, but call me Richie. As in Richard." He says, smirking when ma's face turned from enjoyment to polite anger.

The woman and her son's eyes widen a bit, but the boy is over it quickly. Composing himself and looks at me with...kindness?

Apparently some people are tolerable in this town then.


End file.
